


By How I Treated You

by vials



Category: A Perfect Spy - John le Carré
Genre: Bad Parenting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-07 14:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: Rick Pym pisses off the wrong crowd, and Magnus Pym takes the beating for it. Needless to say, Rick Pym, Father of the Year, deals with it in the best way he knows how: badly; Magnus kind of wants to cease to exist.





	By How I Treated You

**Author's Note:**

> (From the backlog of fic -- 2017 batch.)

Pym clicked the door closed behind him with barely a sound, and stood for a moment in the dark hallway, shivering though it wasn’t cold.

The first thing he needed to do was find a bathroom, and luckily there was one only a few dozen feet away. Turning the light on would no doubt alert the landlady, so Pym had to make do with feeling his away along the wall using his elbow, his hands no longer being an option thanks to the fact they were covered in dirt and blood. Pym couldn’t see if he was leaving any of it behind on the walls or floor, and vowed to come downstairs early to make sure he hadn’t. He kept his other arm raised, his hand cupping his nose to catch the blood that was still dripping from it. 

Pym slipped into the bathroom and, using his hip and elbow, shut the door firmly behind him before he turned the light on. It was harsh and yellow and made his head ache harder than ever, and he squinted until his eyes adjusted and he finally set sight on the sorry image in front of him. 

His own face stared back at him from the mirror mounted on the wall, his hair sticking up in tufts. His hand was still cupped around his nose, red with blood, and Pym could see streaks of it had dried on his face during the walk home. He went to the sink before he moved his hand away and with good reason; as soon as he did, several large drops of blood splattered against the sink, followed by several more from his hand as he held it over the sink, fumbling with his other hand to crack the tap on enough to wash the blood away but not enough that the clanking pipes would alert anyone to his presence. 

Blood was a lot more difficult to clean off than he thought, especially with only cold water and a basic bar of soap to see him through. He got diligently to the task, scrubbing the blood from his hands and then trying to remove it from his face, having to stop several times as movement caused his nose or lip to start bleeding again. He tried to bring down the swelling in his eye with a washcloth soaked in cold water, but he didn’t think there would be much that could be done for it. His eye was already turning purple, the eyelid swollen, and Pym was down to about half his usual visibility in it already. He wouldn’t be surprised if, by the time morning came properly, it would be completely swollen shut. The only thing that showed any kind of improvement was the graze along his chin and up his jawline; with the dirt and blood removed, it was just a series of shallow pink discolorations. A shame, then, that the rest of him was such a state. 

With his face as clean as it could be for now, Pym took a step back and set to the difficult task of getting out of his jacket and shirt. His ribs and stomach ached in protest as he raised his arms, though thankfully not bad enough that he couldn’t manage it. With a bit of grimacing and a few muffled gasps, he managed to twist his way out of his clothing and inspect the damage. 

Pym pulled a face. The worst of the bruising hadn’t set in yet, but he knew it would be the same situation as his eye – come morning, he would be black and blue. He sighed softly, looking down at the pile of his clothing on the ground and wondering if he should even attempt to try and get the blood off at this point. He didn’t think it would do him much good, considering the fact that there were enough visible injuries on his face that trying to pretend this hadn’t happened would be useless. Dejected, he gathered up his shirt and stiffly put it back on, throwing his jacket over his shoulder and balancing it there as he washed some more water around the sink to get rid of the last traces of blood. He waited another moment to ensure that his nose had actually stopped bleeding, and then he shut off the light and crept back out into the hallway. 

He had made it to the top landing before he realised that, somehow, all his efforts had been in vain. He supposed Rick had been awake the whole time, or maybe he had just woken up – it was getting to be the time of the morning where he might wake up if he was in the mood, but either way, Pym had been convinced that he hadn’t made a sound. He didn’t notice Rick’s silhouette until the very last moment, and it was all he could do to stop himself from falling back down several stairs with the force of his jump.

“What are you doing out here?” Pym asked, keeping his voice low but hearing how odd it sounded anyway.

“I thought I heard you,” Rick said, and Pym saw the glint of his teeth as he smiled. “Didn’t scare you, did I?”

“A bit,” Pym admitted, trying to choose whether to step closer or not. The stairs were still dangerously close behind him, but moving away from them would put him in closer proximity to Rick, which wasn’t something he thought he could deal with tonight. “Have you just woken up?”

“I can’t say I slept much last night,” Rick said. “Too busy. You should have mentioned you were going out. I could have done with the fresh air.”

“I don’t think that would have been a good idea,” Pym said, already mentally laying the groundwork for his cover story. “There were some nasty pieces of work out there tonight.”

“Drunks?”

“I think so.”

“Did any of them give you any trouble?”

Pym wondered if he was actually hearing the note of urgency in Rick’s voice, and he tried to work out if he was genuinely concerned for reasons that were currently only his to know, or if it was another case of false concern.

“A bit,” he eventually said, hoping he sounded as unbothered as he needed to believe he was. “It’s no big deal. You know what people can be like when they get some drink in them.”

There was a pause, and in the silence Pym became aware of how strange his voice actually sounded. It would be clear that something was wrong; he sounded as though his nose were blocked, and now that he thought about it he could feel pressure there that told him the next movement or breath through his nose was going to involve blood.

“Excuse me a moment,” Pym said thickly, before he edged around his father and into their shared room at the end of the hall. 

He just managed to make it to the bathroom before the blood came, and was still standing there, his nose dripping steadily, when the light flickered on. Pym squinted again in the sudden light, glancing in the mirror to see Rick was standing there, his hand on the cord, seemingly unaffected by the sudden transition from dark to light. He was wearing the slightest frown, and the sight of it made Pym prickle. He managed to swallow down anything he might say, instead concentrating on cleaning up the new bloodstains. 

“What happened?” Rick eventually demanded, when the sound of running water had been the only break in the silence for a solid minute.

“I told you,” Pym said, speaking easier now. “I ran into some drunks. There was an altercation.”

“It looks like it was a little more than an altercation, my boy. You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

“Embarrassed?” Pym repeated, glancing at him in the mirror again. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Well, I know how it is,” Rick said, moving his hand from where he had been fiddling with the cord and shoving it casually into his pocket instead. “It’s always a bit embarrassing, isn’t it, when you come away from a fight looking worse for wear.”

“I don’t feel too badly about it,” Pym said conversationally. “There were three of them and one of me. I think you lose by default if you have to gang up on someone.”

“What did they look like?” Rick asked abruptly, and it was such an odd question, so far away from how Pym had been expecting the conversation to go, that he turned around to face him.

“Why does it matter?” he asked, which he immediately realised was the wrong thing to say – what he _should_ have said was _I didn’t see, it was dark and they were kicking the hell out of me_, but it was too late for that now. “You’re not going to try and get the police involved or anything, are you?”

He knew even as he said it that it wouldn’t be an issue: Rick Pym, for obvious reasons, tended to avoid associating with the police. However, Pym supposed it was a good cover for why he had been so defensive over the appearances of his assailants, and now it was the only cover that he had.

“Can I not wonder who attacked my son?” Rick asked, looking almost hurt. “It’s just a matter of curiosity.”

“I didn’t really see them too clearly,” Pym said, turning back to the sink as his nose dripped again. “There were three of them, one was kind of fat. They weren’t particularly memorable, to be honest. They sounded like they were from London.”

“Whereabouts?”

“I don’t know. East, possibly. I can’t said I’m very knowledgeable on the intricacies of London accents, but that’s my best guess.”

Rick frowned, looking for a moment as though he wasn’t entirely in the room. When he saw Pym was looking at him the expression cleared as suddenly as it had arrived, and he smiled.

“At least I know I haven’t raised a coward,” he said brightly. “I’m sure you gave as good as you got, eh?”

“I tried,” Pym said, shrugging. The movement hurt his ribs and he managed to keep the discomfort off his face; the last thing he wanted was for Rick to start sniffing around the other injuries. “Like I said, though. Three against one. Pretty unfair odds.”

“I’m sure it would have been different had it been one on one.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Pym managed to edge around Rick and into the other room, which was no easy feat considering Rick didn’t move from where he had been standing, blocking most of the doorway. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with himself, because despite the aching he could feel in his head and ribs, and the heaviness that had settled over his limbs, he didn’t think he would be able to sleep. There were still several hours to go before anyone else would start stirring, and Pym didn’t particularly want to spend them with Rick. 

“You should lay down,” Rick told him, finally turning off the bathroom light and throwing them back into the dull shadows that made the room look so strange just before dawn. “Even if it’s only for a few hours. I’ll need your help with something later.”

Pym sat heavily on the bed, briefly toying with the idea of asking Rick just what he would be needed for. Before he could, his head twinged with a fresh burst of pain, and he decided against it.

“Alright,” he said instead, and, not wanting to risk Rick seeing the other bruises, he simply crawled under the covers in his trousers and shirt.

He still wasn’t tired, but at least laying under the sheets and staying perfectly still would buy him some peace and quiet. He heard Rick move around the room, apparently getting changed completely in the dark, and after fifteen minutes Pym heard the room door open and then softly close behind him. He gave it a few more seconds and then let his breath out, pulling the sheets down over his face and letting the cool air sooth his aching nose. He briefly felt something stir in his chest, tight and heavy, and knew that it was probably anger and very justified anger at that; he took a deep breath through his mouth and tried to force it back. It would do him no good, and really, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t expected something like this to happen. 

The main problem was that Rick seemed to have expected it too, and Pym wasn’t sure what about that fact made him angrier. The fact that Rick had guessed and still let Pym wander around unprepared? Or the fact that he had guessed and was no doubt going to make it worse for him? 

Pym rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. In the silence and privacy of the empty room, he let himself scowl. 

He must have fallen asleep eventually, because when he was next aware of anything at all the sun had risen above the buildings in the street and was shining through a small gap in the curtains. Pym sat up and blinked, waiting for a moment to see how badly his head would react to the sudden change of position. There was still an undeniable ache there, but Pym figured that it was a slight improvement, and would probably be manageable.

Returning to the bathroom, he inspected the damage and saw that it was exactly what he’d expected. His eye was mostly swollen shut, the bruise now black bordered by a deep purple. His nose was still swollen but luckily didn’t appear to have been broken or otherwise knocked out of shape; Pym could see dried blood on the inside of his nostrils, but after a moment of deliberation decided it wasn’t worth trying to clean it right now. No doubt it would end with more blood, and that was the last thing he needed. The grazes on his jaw and chin looked slightly worse now that they had scabbed over, but Pym supposed that compared to the rest of his face, they probably weren’t worth worrying about.

He did his best to make himself look presentable, inspecting his shirt once he had removed it and wondering if he would ever get the blood off. Then, changed and fully aware of what a mess he looked, he let himself out of the room and headed down the stairs, not entirely sure what he was going to do with himself for the rest of the day. He vaguely remembered that Rick had mentioned needing him for something, but no one remained behind and there was no note for him – Pym was daring to feel optimistic before the landlady appeared as he stepped into the downstairs hallway. 

“There you are, Magnus—good Lord! What happened to your face?” she squinted at him and moved slightly, as though she dared hope it was just a shadow. “Goodness! Have you been _fighting_?”

“A bit,” Pym said, delivering a sheepish grin. “It was nothing, really. Just something stupid. I don’t even remember what it was over now, can you believe?”

“You boys are all alike,” the landlady said, shaking her head. “Trouble from the moment you’re born, the lot of you. My sons were the same. You need to be careful. You break your nose at this age and you’ll ruin those good looks of yours.”

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Pym said, pressing gingerly at it. “Just swollen. Nothing crunched. I didn’t get blood everywhere last night, did it?”

“I didn’t see any, pet. I shouldn’t worry even if you did, you can hardly be blamed looking like that.”

“Well, I thought I’d ask. I wouldn’t want to leave you cleaning up after me. I was the one who picked a fight, after all.”

“I have a lot of experience cleaning up after bloody noses, don’t you mind about that. Are you on your way out?”

“I think so. I’m not sure where I’m going, though. Do you know the time?”

“It’s coming up to lunch. Your father left a couple of hours ago, and asked me to pass on a message.”

“Oh?” Pym said neutrally, though inside he fought the urge to groan. “Where is he?”

“He said he would be at the pub on the corner from lunchtime, I’m sure you know it. The Wexford Arms, owned by the little Irish lad and his wife. He said for you to meet him there, so I imagine he’ll be expecting you now.”

“Alright,” Pym said, nodding. “Super. I’ll do that, then.”

Once out on the street and sure nobody was watching him, Pym let a frown flicker over his face. It vanished as soon as it had come, but it was enough of an acknowledgment to make him feel suddenly tired, overcome with the temptation to turn around and just go back to bed. He wasn’t surprised, of course – he had known from the moment Rick had started quizzing him that he had a good idea of who those people were, and this was just further confirmation. The pub that Pym was currently walking towards was a favourite haunt of the previous night’s assailants, and Pym found himself thoroughly surprised to reach it and not see any police in the area.

He didn’t bother putting off the inevitable, and instead walked right inside, through the smoky porch and into the dim bar beyond. Most of the tables at the far sides of the room were empty, but a good cluster of people occupied the booths and tables near the bar, a mixture of older gentlemen with nothing better to do, and younger men in for a lunch break of the more liquid variety. No one paid Pym much attention, which struck Pym as unusual – no matter how many times he had come in here, or how regular the newcomer was, it was seemingly custom for everyone to stop what they were doing and briefly stare at the person as they entered. Even old Paddy, the Irish barman whose real name no one had actually bothered to learn, didn’t look away from where he was leaning over the bar, polishing a glass that looked as though it had been getting polished for a good half hour by this point. 

Pym was sure that nothing good could come of this, and as he approached the more populated area of the bar he was immediately proven right.

Rick, of course, was front and centre, and until Pym saw him he hadn’t realised that the group of people were sitting or standing in a loose circle shape. It became incredibly clear as Pym saw his father, and clearer still when his eyes moved from Rick and to the table in front of him, where three very familiar figures sat. Pym had been lying when he had said he had no idea what his assailants looked like, and therefore he recognised them instantly – what he didn’t understand was why the three of them looked as though every ounce of bravado had been forcibly drained out of them, but Pym supposed the answer to that was about to make itself all too clear.

Apparently Pym had adhered to Rick’s plan perfectly, because whatever Rick was up to didn’t seem to have to break stride or derail in order to accommodate his arrival. Rick turned to him as though he had been expecting Pym at this precise second and had been counting down the clock ever since; his face was a mask of grim determination, the perfect picture of a good man who didn’t like to cause trouble but by god, he would if he had to.

“Magnus,” he said, taking him by the shoulder as Pym reluctantly stepped closer. He tugged him right up next to him, keeping his arm firmly around his shoulder, and for a moment no one said anything. Pym stared at a spot slightly between the man sat in the middle and the man to his right, keeping his gaze steady but not focusing on anything in particular. He could hear several people muttering, and became painfully aware of the state of his face.

“Look at the state of him,” Rick said, giving Pym a little shake. “Do you know how old he is, gentlemen?”

A heavy silence.

“_Fifteen_,” Rick announced, and this time the outbreak of muttering was louder. Pym even heard Paddy the barman tut loudly as he continued cleaning the same glass. “A child. I understand your frustration, gentlemen, but to assault a child? That I can’t understand. Whatever issues you might have with me – and I’m sure they’re perfectly valid, from your understanding of things! – whatever issues you have with me have nothing to do with my boy. He’s a good lad. He’s in school. He’s studying hard. He wants to be a judge. I’m not being funny, gentlemen, but it’s something to keep in mind. He’s a clever boy. He’ll make it. And what of you, if you carry on assaulting children? You might end up seeing him from the wrong side of the dock one day.”

A smattering of laughter at that, and Pym could tell from experience that Rick had allowed himself a small smile of his own. 

“Serve you right, lads,” someone called from somewhere behind Pym; he heard a clink of glasses and more laughter. 

“There you go, then,” Rick said, his tone almost conversational. “I don’t think anyone here approves of it, gentlemen. It’s very cowardly, to have a problem with a man and to take it out on his family, especially when acting in a capacity that isn’t yours in the first place. Tell me, did you take it upon yourselves to do this? Because I can’t for the life of me imagine your dear mother putting you up to this.”

It looked as though the three men were trying to remember how to talk; finally the one on the left rediscovered his voice, though with all the eyes in the room on him he didn’t seem much at all like the arrogant man who had nearly broken Pym’s nose last night. 

“She’s still not entirely aware of the… _implications_,” he said, his eyes briefly travelling over Pym’s face before snapping back to Rick. Pym wondered if that had been a flicker of shame he had seen, or if it was simply Rick’s magic making him want to see it there.

“The _implications_?” Rick repeated. “Well, I’m sure we’d all love to hear about those. Don’t be shy, gentlemen. This isn’t a trial. I’m just trying to understand, that’s all.”

“You know damn well what you did,” the man in the middle said, twitching slightly as though, had this been normal circumstances, he would have risen to his feet. Pym didn’t know what it was that had kept him in his seat, but whatever it was, he was glad for it. 

“I also believe I know a lot more about the situation than you do,” Rick said, tightening his grip around Pym’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should discuss things with your mother first, and then decide if you would like to write a man off as a crook and attack his son over it. I come here regularly, gentlemen, and my colleagues even more regularly. If you wished to discuss concerns with me, I was never far away. I’m sure you understand that this is no way to settle worries, especially when all the evidence is right there for you to access whenever you would like to see it.”

“I suppose time will tell, won’t it?” asked the man in the centre, with something that almost became a sneer but seemed to be extinguished under whatever look Rick had given him. 

“It will,” Rick agreed. “And even if, say, things didn’t go as promised – not that they will! But, as a thought exercise – say they _didn’t_ go well. Would anyone here, yourselves included, believe that assaulting a child would be the correct way to go about settling things?”

Murmurs of disagreement; a distinct _what kinda person hits wee’uns_ from Paddy. The three men, perhaps wisely, said nothing. 

“Well then,” Rick said, as though that settled it. “Magnus, mind your nose. You don’t want it dripping everywhere.”

His nose was in no danger of imminently bleeding, but Pym obediently reached up and pressed the back of his hand under his nose. A slight, barely perceptible squeeze of his shoulder from Rick prompted Pym to sniff slightly and blow the air back out through his nose; predictably, his nose began dripping again. Rick tutted sympathetically and made a show of turning to Paddy.

“Mind if I clean him up in your bathroom, Paddy?” he asked, and Paddy gave a grave nod.

“Aye, on you go. I’ll keep an eye on these’uns, so I will. Don’t want any more trouble in here, ‘specially not with wee’uns.”

Still with his arm around him, Rick guided Pym through the occupied tables and the brief crowd of standing people, and Pym tried to look realistically sorry for himself under their sympathetic gazes. Rick wore a similar look of concern as they crossed the room and entered the bathroom; as soon as the door swung shut he gave Pym a toothy grin and clapped him on the arm.

Pym managed to return the smile, briefly, and disguised its hurry by rushing to the sink to deal with the blood.


End file.
